Prayer ~ John of the Cross

I'm taking a class for a few weeks on John in the Cross, and for each night two or three of us are asked to prepare prayers or meditations based on the week's reading.  Mine, for tonight:

We would ourselves choose, always, the light. 
We would choose the light sparkling across the water, the sun burning our shoulders, the warmth of friendship, the sparkle of romance. 
We turn on the lights as we enter a dark house, knowing darkness as the place in which we stumble, bump into tables, trip on the stairs.
We instinctively look up when we go out into the dark, seeking illumination from streetlights, from the moon, from the stars.
We choose Orion's Belt over the blackness of space.
We set our sights on the tail of a comet, not on the darkness through which it speeds.
We aim our spaceships for the moon and our telescopes toward Saturn, toward light, toward something ~ not toward emptiness.
And You are in all things -- in the sunlight, in the warmth, in the lights, in the stars and in the planets.
We count on you to be there.
And we cannot see you in the dark.

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We walked and walked in the night.  It was so dark.

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Is this where you nourish your beloved?
Is this where you impart strength?
Is this where your river flows, silently and imperceptibly?

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We walked and walked in the night.  We did not run away.  We walked right into the dark.
We walked into your embrace.
Your silence.
Your stillness.
Your reticence.
Your humility.

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Do you scoop your beloved up in the dark?
Do you catch those who fall in the silence?
Do you embrace those who find themselves wrapped in emptiness?

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You create a space for yourself where we cannot.  Will not.  Do not want.
You seek us completely for yourself, and you give us the dark in which to find you.